


Fault

by jawsandbones



Series: Ficlits [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 12:03:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14715683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jawsandbones/pseuds/jawsandbones
Summary: Hawke comes home without Carver, finds a less than warm welcome.---She has replayed argument after argument, thought she knew all she might say. Hearing Leandra’s voice and every reason, every thought, every word, is forgotten. Leandra is smiling, eyes shining bright with sudden tears, fleeting relief. “You made it home,” she says so softly, until she is looking behind, looking at the door. “Carver is with you?” At her sides, Hawke’s hands clench into fists. Leandra’s hands fall away.





	Fault

She hates this door, but fears what’s behind it even more. So much time spent in dark places, deeper roads, and it was only when they reached the surface did her thoughts turn to this. For each step they had taken closer to Kirkwall, the echoes grew louder. Words she thought she had buried, a feeling left behind in Ferelden. There’s dread in that door, in her belly, in lung and rib. She can only stare at it – the twisting knots in the wood, the flaws in the grain. The days spent walking back to the city and still, she isn’t ready. Still, she has no choice. Twisting the knob, stepping inside.

Leandra stands so quickly that the chair scrapes against the floor, falls backwards. Racing towards her, hands on her face and, “oh, my baby!” She has replayed argument after argument, thought she knew all she might say. Hearing Leandra’s voice and every reason, every thought, every word, is forgotten. Leandra is smiling, eyes shining bright with sudden tears, fleeting relief. “You made it home,” she says so softly, until she is looking behind, looking at the door. “Carver is with you?” At her sides, Hawke’s hands clench into fists. Leandra’s hands fall away.

Hawke’s head lowered, a knot between her brows. The thin line of her mouth, her jaw clenched, a bitter shake of her head. “No,” she says, “he isn’t.” Leandra’s hands clasp together. Raggedly bitten nails scratching at already scratched knuckles, shifting from foot to foot. There are old stains on her apron, and newer ones as well. Hawke can’t raise her head, can’t look her mother in the face.

“Is he – coming back?”

“I don’t know.”

“You _don’t_. You don’t know? How can you not know? How can you not know?” Leandra’s arms go slack, restless hands still. Her legs tremble, her knees buckle, and the tears hit the floor before she does. Palms pressing against the floor, grey wisps of hair around her face. Hawke quickly goes to her knees as well, puts a hand on her back. “Don’t touch me,” Leandra says, pushing her away, “I told you not to take him! You’ve let another one of my babies die.” Hawke tells herself that she doesn’t mean it. Doesn’t mean the anger in each sharp bite of the word, the furious wailing. Hawke might have thought herself brave once, but she leaves through that door and knows herself to be a coward.

She aimlessly wanders through the streets, shoulder bumping against shoulder. There is mud on her boots, dirt on her armor. Blood still under her fingernails and when was the last time she had a proper bath? Without realizing, she’s brought herself to a different door, in a different part of the city. This door is far easier to face. Leaning her forehead against the wood, closing her eyes. An effort, to lift her hand, to make the fist, to rap her knuckles against the wood. A few moments and a few moments more, and just before she turns away, it opens.

“Hawke?” He reaches out, takes her by the wrist. “Bartrand told us you were dead.”

“Bartrand trapped us down there. Carver caught the blight. He’s gone with the Grey Wardens,” she tells him flatly. His hand tightens around her wrist. He steps back, she steps forward, and the door closes behind her. She lets her head fall to his shoulder. “Can I use your bath?”

“Hawke, I – yes. Of course.” He isn’t in his armor. His sword is leaning against the post of his bed. Hawke follows him further inside, and some grief gives way to a different ache. She has _missed_ him. Fenris pulls out a tunic, leggings, from his closet, hands them to her with some complicated expression.

“This is all I have. I don’t know if they’ll fit you,” he says. She takes them carefully, holds them even more so.

“Thank you Fenris,” she says softly. He only nods, leaves her be. Turning the knobs, and the sound of rushing water fills the silence. His mirror is cracked, broken, some pieces missing. She watches as three different Hawke’s undo the clasps of her gauntlets. Letting her robes fall to a heap, her pants, boots, all of it, and she tells herself she will burn them. Slipping into the water, and with a simple thought, makes the water bite with warmth. Closing her eyes, sinking even deeper.

The clothes fit a little awkwardly, but it’s better than what she arrived in. He looks at her briefly as she makes her way towards him, turns back to stoke the fire. She takes a seat beside him on the bench. “Thank you, again. I’m sure I smelled awful,” she says, forcing the laughter into her words. Fenris shakes his head.

“Are you alright? I was – Bartrand told us there had been a cave in. With no hope of rescue. I should have realized he was lying, but I,” Fenris frowns, his gaze drifting to the floor, but it quickly corrects itself. “I should have realized. I am, pleased. To see you.” He coughs out the catch in his throat, and for the first time in a long time, she smiles. A true thing. Reaching out, settling a hand over his.

“It seems like you’re the only person happy to see me,” she says.

“Then I take it you have not seen the others yet. Merrill has been – _annoying_ , with her questions about you. Aveline asks me for favors every day. And Isabela.” At that, he makes only some disgruntled, disgusted noise and the laughter is surprised out of her. At the sound of it, Fenris smiles.

“She blamed me,” Hawke is still laughing, even as the tears she doesn’t want roll down her cheeks, “I walked through the door and my mother told me I killed him.” Her hand leaves his as she hunches over, elbows against her knees, face in her hands. Fenris, very carefully, moves closer to her. If Hawke could see him, she would see his worry, his concern, even more than that. Hesitation, in the way he moves his arm, but his thoughts settle, and he puts his hand against her back.

“Hawke, I – I have known many different kinds of people in my life. I know you. What kind of person you are. You will have done everything you could. You cannot take this blame. It is not your fault,” he says. A simple hand, a single touch, is not enough. Wrapping his arm around her, holding her tightly, and he hunches over as well, his head against hers. His other hand reaches out, gently pulls her hand away from her face. Wiping away her tears and how kindly he tells her again, “it is not your fault.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can always find me [@jawsandbones](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/)


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